


without love, where would you be now?

by honeyichor (bloodsparks)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, Demon Dean Winchester, Episode: s03e10 Dream a Little Dream, Gen, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Pre-Hell Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsparks/pseuds/honeyichor
Summary: When Dean caves, the first thing Alastair makes him do is go back in time. He has an appointment with someone in a dream. Turns out, it's himself.





	without love, where would you be now?

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'long train runnin'' by the doobie brothers

When Dean caves, the first thing Alastair makes him do is go back in time. 

He's expecting to be handed a blade the way so many before him have given in. He's expecting to be trained in the art of making a soul suffer. He's expecting to be twisted and turned into a monster. 

But Alastair puts the knife down and tells him to step closer. Tells him that, before the fun can begin, there's something Dean personally needs to do. There's someone he needs to go see. He isn't told much, but Alastair implies that he'll know what to do when the situation arises. It's cryptic, and Dean doesn't like how much room there is for mistake, but he complies nonetheless. 

When the incantation and ritual are done, Dean feels a rush of air before the suffocating heat of Hell fades, and all that's left is a cool, dim room. He glances down at himself and finds that his clothes have changed, and his hair's cut a little shorter. He looks different, and though he isn't yet sure why, he knows its vital to the task at hand. There's nothing in the room but a bed and a table, much like the motel rooms he used to find himself in all the time. 

Dean waits and waits and waits, but nobody appears. Eventually, he gets bored and lays on the bed. But years of endless screaming and pain from all sides have dulled him to human needs, and he no longer feels tired. There's a restless buzzing in his veins, and he needs his task to end so he can return to where he's destined to stay. He's no longer used to Earth, and he doesn't want to start liking it again only to have it ripped away. 

He paces the room for a while, thinking of who he might come across. Sam, perhaps? Or Bobby? God forbid it was them both. If the final test of leaving the Rack down in the Pit was to slaughter all those he cared for, Dean didn't know if he would be able to stand it. 

Eventually, he settles for sitting at the desk so his back is toward the door. It would be better if he knew who it was before they recognised him. And so the minutes tick by, and the hours slide past. Dean cures his boredom by playing with the lamp on the desk. He flicks the light on, and off, and on, and off.

On and off. On and off. 

When he hears a voice behind him, he doesn't expect it to be his own. 

It's him, just before Hell. Just before everything. He understands the outfit change now; he's meant to be a representation of himself.

"I get it. I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it?" Past-him jokes, as usual. 

In Hell, he was known for causing verbal chaos when it came down to torture, so much so that the demons resorted to cutting his tongue out every time they put him back together and started their torture anew. They'd rip it out of his mouth, shoot it, split it, carve into it - anything to keep him from talking. Where there was silence, the pain and distress was louder. 

But Past-Dean doesn't know what's to come, and now Dean understands why Alastair sent him back here. 

"Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth." He decides to cut to the chase and lay all the cards out on the table. It's important that they don't underestimate one another. "I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror... and hate what you see."

It brings a fresh wave of emotion, talking to himself like this. He'd never have admitted it to himself before. It's amazing what some sharp torture instruments and a bunch of unrelenting demon assholes can do to you.

Past-Dean doesn't flinch, but the amusement in his eyes flickers. "Sorry, pal," he says with a shrug that isn't apologetic in the least. "It's not gonna work. You're not real."

Ah, right. Dean understands. Past-him thinks this is a dream, and maybe it is... But it's also the crushing reality of who he's going to turn into when they don't find a way out of his demon deal. It's a paradox, and Past-him is bound to be cynical about it. But it's alright. He doesn't have to understand it yet. 

"Sure I am. I'm you."  _You from thirty years downstairs, sure, but still you._

Past-him is still smug and trying to worm his way out of the situation. But he won't leave until he hears what he needs to; Alastair made sure of that with the spell. It may be Past-Dean's dream, but he isn't in control of it anymore. And he  _will_ listen. At first, of course, He tries to talk his way out of it. Snaps his finger to make it all disappear. But it doesn't, and now Dean has his attention. 

 "I mean, you're going to hell and you won't lift a finger to stop it." The words sting even to him. They're laced with anger and guilt.  _I wouldn't be in this position, in this place, if it wasn't for you._ He can't believe he hadn't tried harder to escape the path he laid out for himself. 

The hurt turns to anger, and Dean chuckles, but there's no humour in it. Just malice. "Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?"

In front of him, Past-Dean is mumbling quickly to himself to wake up. Dean steps closer and shoves his hand in Past-him's hair, tugging sharply and forcing him to look up at him with a pained expression. They stare at each other for what seems like a lifetime in its own. The smugness in Past-him's eyes has turned to panic. Dean smirks. "Look at you. You've got nothing outside of Sam. All in all, you are nothing." He lets go with a shove, and Past-Dean clambers against the desk, catching his breath. 

"You're just as mindless and obedient as an attack dog. As a bitch bred to kill." This time there's even more poison in his words, because the pain they cause echoes even within him. Even now, as he spits the words out to his past self, it hits him that what he's doing is still taking orders and carrying out a kill. He's still being used as a hound bred for bloodlust, and it doesn't seem to be something he can let go of. It's branded on him; it  _is_ him. 

"That's- That's not true," Past-him is stuttering, still trying to smile and put up a good front about it. 

Dean scoffs. "Oh, it isn't? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you own and take pride in? Your car, your jacket, your music, your job, it's all from Dad, isn't it? You're just a fucking carbon copy." 

It was all he heard about in Hell. When they picked on him, when they tried to get into his mind to see what made him tick, everything led back to someone else on the Rack. John Winchester. And when the demons made the connection, when they learned that Dean was Winchester Jr., they had a blast. They stripped Dean down, took him apart and identified everything about him that came from somewhere else until all he was left with was the heart to look after Sam with - and even that had come from an order given to him. 

"Everything you are, everything you do, it all leads back to watching out for Sammy and looking out for your little boy. Isn't it? Dad's voice is still playing in your head," Dean spits. "Like a video stuck on loop. Clear as a bell." He pulls out a gun from his jeans and taps it on his temple. 

"Just shut up," Past-him says, but it's more of a plea than a warning. 

Dean can't believe himself. If he's weak before the Pit, they'll chew on him and spit him out faster than ever. He won't make it, won't even come close. Dean needs to amp up the situation. Needs to get his engine going and his gears turning. He needs his past self to be tougher than he currently is. So he pushes again, harder this time. 

"All Dad ever did was train you and boss you around," Dean accuses, shoving a finger into Past-Dean's chest. "When it came to Sam, he doted on him and loved him. But you? Dad knew what you were. What you are." 

"I mean it: I'm getting angry."

"A good soldier, and nothing else. Just Daddy's blunt little instrument."

Past-him is looking upset, but it's more of a sad, pathetic, wet kind of sad. Not the hard, angry kind that he'll need to survive. 

Dean snaps, desperate at this point. "Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died, so why should you?" He yells, getting in Past-Dean's face. 

"Son of a bitch!" Past-him snaps, standing and shoving Dean hard against the wall. "My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family!" As he shouts, he hits Dean over the head with his own gun, swinging wildly and kicking at his legs so he falls against the wall. 

Frankly, Dean doesn't mind. He's endured worse, and this feels like nothing more than a flea bite. In fact, he's enjoying it. He's glad to see Past-him stepping up and taking control over the situation. He's going to need this sort of strength in the months to come, and if Dean has to be the one to give it to him, and under these circumstances, so be it. 

"He's the one who let Mom die," the venom in Past-Dean's voice is unmistakeable. "He's the one who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair!"

Dean tries to get up, but not because he wants to put up a fight. It'll just be too suspicious if he lays down and takes whatever is thrown at him. And Past-him is on a good track; Dean doesn't want him to lose the stamina he's building. 

"I didn't deserve what he put on me!" It's the grand finale. "And I don't deserve to go to Hell!" 

With the shotgun, Past-Dean fires two rounds right into Dean's chest. They hurt, but it's a dull pain. Nothing like the sharpness he's endured for years at a time at the merciless hands of those in the Pit. He isn't killed, obviously, since they're in Past-Dean's mind, but he has to keep up the act. So he closes his eyes - for now - and leans against the wall. The blood on his chest is sticky, and spatters of it dot a path across the freckles on his face. 

Past-him sighs, chest heaving as he catches his breath and tries to cope with what's just happened.

Time for the grand finale. 

Dean opens his eyes, which flicker to black. Getting off the Rack down in Hell comes with terms and conditions. He gets up off the table where he was slouched over. He smirks at the way Past-Dean's eyes widen at his appearance.  _This is your future,_ he thinks.  _Look at me and revel in your mistakes._

" __You can't escape me, Dean," he snarls, teeth bared and his eyes still pure obsidian. "You're gonna die. And this?" He pauses to laugh mockingly. "This is what you're gonna become!" He puts as much grit and hatred into his voice as possible, and the effects are beyond perfect.

Past-Dean flinches, staring wide-eyed and terrified. 

As soon as it began, it ends.

**Author's Note:**

> woooo this was a fun take on things


End file.
